Page 11 of The Wayward Sons & The Vampires of Fortune (The Wayward Sons #4)

S itting in the back of the police car, I saw it. One second there, and then the next… just gone. But I saw it—the dark figure just there watching me. I felt its presence prickling across my skin as every one of my hunter instincts ignited in unison. Danger.

They were close, just watching and waiting.

There was no outrunning them at this point.

Getting arrested was a cop-out, and I knew that.

A dumb plan that would keep my ass in jail as a way to ride this out.

But it was the only way I knew to keep myself surrounded by humans.

Gray and I could only stay on the run for so long—could only keep ourselves surrounded by a big crowd for so long.

Eventually, we’d be alone. And I knew when that happened, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to protect Gray from the Vampires of Fortune.

Jail seemed like a fair trade-off for keeping Gray safe.

All I had to do was survive it. I could do that. I hoped to hell I could do that. If I was being honest, the idea of being surrounded twenty-four hours a day by people was a nightmare. Still, it was the best idea I had, which I knew wasn’t saying much.

“Out now.” The officer I punched was named Fitzgerald, and his partner was Harris.

Fitzgerald was pissed. Understandably so.

I’d hit him for no reason and refused to answer his questions.

I didn’t even blame him for being a little rough around the edges as I climbed out of the vehicle.

I remained silent through processing and cooperated at every stage, even when Fitzgerald pushed and poked to instigate shit.

I got it. He was mad and wanted a reason to retaliate, but I wasn’t stupid enough to give him one.

Before leaving the hotel room, I’d taken out my wallet and left it behind. I’d made sure I didn’t have a single identifying item on me.

“He’s got no prints,” Harris said. He roughly grabbed my hand, inspecting my fingers. They wouldn’t find a damn thing. I’d paid a witch good money to get rid of my fingerprints a long time ago. Better safe than sorry.

“What?” Fitzgerald frowned as he came closer. And me? I said nothing. “Try again.”

“Try what again?” he demanded. “There’s no prints! His fingertips are smooth.”

“What the hell did you do to your fingers?”

Again, I didn’t say a damn word. The less I gave, the better.

I just wanted to move through the system and be done with it.

It was the only option I had at this point.

I planned to plead guilty and make it easy to avoid an unnecessary amount of time in court.

The less time outside, the better. Safer.

“I asked you a question,” Fitzgerald snapped. “What the hell did you do to your fingers?”

Again, nothing.

“Maybe he’s mute,” Harris offered. The look Fitzgerald leveled him with was hostile, as was the swirl of anger that seeped into my pores.

“He’s not a damn mute,” he retorted. “Run his mug shot through the system. Someone somewhere knows who the hell he is.”

I bit back a sigh. I’d weighed that option but had hoped they wouldn’t, even if it made sense why they would. I didn’t have any magical precautions to protect me from facial scans.

“You,” Fitzgerald growled. “Let’s go.”

At least he wasn’t talkative as he walked me down a hall to the precinct’s holding cells. They had three in total. My heart dropped at the number of people in all of them, making them nothing more than festering hellholes of volatile emotion. Fuck, I hated this.

For Gray.

I kept that singular thought on repeat as Fitzgerald uncuffed me and left me alone in a cell with four men who had obvious temper problems. Remaining silent, I sat in the farthest corner possible to put as much distance between me and them as possible. Not that it’d last long.

It was them or the vampires.

And in that light, they were the favorable option.

I sighed, and my head tipped back against the concrete wall as I steeled myself for a long few hours.